Between the Bars: Kincaid
by ns.108
Summary: A not-canon-but-not-not-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."
1. VII

**Title/Author: **"Between the Bars: Kincaid" by n.s.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A not-canon-but-not-_not_-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. This is brought to you by me watching loads of Law & Order reruns while my kids take naps.

"We're lucky. He could have hung the jury," Jack said.

Claire shook her head.

"Unbelievable," she whispered, sitting back on the couch.

"Makes you wonder," Jack said, switching then from the subject of James Smith, saying, "I've been wondering about other things, too."

Claire feigned ignorance. "About?"

"Your employment status."

Claire sighed and looked at him, silently imploring him to not ask.

He ignored it.

"Still thinking of resigning?"

She shrugged silently, looking down at her hands.

"Move to strike, witness is non-responsive."

Claire smiled but it fell quickly.

"I'm here," she said softly, after a moment. "For now."

Jack pushed the folder on his lap aside and leaned forward, taking one of the hands she had been clenching in her lap into his own. He gripped it gently, pressing against each of her knuckles as he counted them.

"No strings," he repeated what he had said days earlier, his eyes remaining on her hand in his. "I promise. _We_ are not contingent on this office."

Claire nodded, watching his hand. "I know."

"I mean it, Claire," Jack reiterated, looking up now. "I mean what I said."

Claire smiled, squeezing his hand. "I know."

He fell asleep before her that night, his hand resting comfortably and absently on the swell of her hip in the way it often did. She lay facing away from him, the weight of his hand steadying her as the tears ran out and slid between her cheek and the pillow, becoming trapped.


	2. VI

**Title/Author: **"Between the Bars: Kincaid" by n.s.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A not-canon-but-not-_not_-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. This is brought to you by me watching loads of Law & Order reruns while my kids take naps.

"So if you don't mind a completely personal sidebar," Paul Robinette asked slyly, raising his glass of scotch to his lips. "Who is it you keep checking your watch for?"

Claire winced. "I'm sorry, have I been rude?"

"Not at all," Paul assured her with a smile. "You've been trying very hard _not _to be, in quintessential Claire Kincaid fashion."

Claire smiled at her old friend—or foe, was it now?—and took a sip of her own drink. They had concluded their business, but had lingered to catch up, and the bar was in full-swing now, as the hour neared midnight. As bodies filled the space, they were pressed together, making even the most innocent conversations more intimate. That, coupled with her third drink, made her feel bold.

"Jack McCoy."

Paul's eyes widened momentarily, but then returned as he set his drink down.

"Well, I guess I'm not that surprised."

Claire smirked.

"Go ahead, make the joke."

Paul held up his hands. "No jokes, Claire. I promise."

Claire narrowed her eyes. "Paul Robinette has no pearls of wisdom, or articles of judgement?"

Paul laughed heartily, leaning in to bump her shoulder companionably.

"Oh, I have plenty," he said thoughtfully, adding, "But not for you."

"Oh really? What makes me exempt?"

"You know I have a lot of respect for you, Claire," he bobbed his head, "Him, the jury's still out."

Claire laughed. "I appreciate the Big Brother attitude."

Paul shook his head then, the joke dropped from his voice.

"If I thought you needed it, I'd be first in line to fill the role," he said. "But you know how to take care of yourself. I didn't recommend you to Ben Stone to replace me because you couldn't take care of yourself. And Adam wouldn't have sanctioned you working for McCoy if he didn't think so either. Professionally, or personally."

Claire smiled, genuinely, putting her hand on his forearm resting on the bar.

"Thanks, Paul. Good to know I'm not just another office cliche for everyone."

Paul put his hand on top of hers. "Not for me, and not for anyone who's spent more than five minutes talking to you."

Claire grinned.

"Sometimes I wish we were on the same side of the aisle."

Paul smiled, but again, wasn't joking when he said, "Any time you want a new job, you know who to call."


	3. V

**Title/Author: **"Between the Bars: Kincaid" by n.s.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A not-canon-but-not-_not_-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. This is brought to you by me watching loads of Law & Order reruns while my kids take naps.

Claire dropped her pen after the third spelling mistake in two sentences. She scrubbed at her eyes with her hands and yawned. The air in Jack's office was stale from the smell of slightly mildewed law books and Chinese food and offered no refreshment.

"I think I'm maxed out."

Jack didn't even look up, just flipped a page in the affidavit he was reviewing.

"You can go. This isn't exactly on the clock," he said without malice, touching the tip of a finger to his tongue before turning another page.

Claire exhaled and rolled her neck.

"Are you staying?"

Again, no eye contact, just the crisp flip of a page. "For a time."

"Will I see you?" Claire asked lowly, her stomach dropping ever so slightly because she wasn't sure what his answer would be. He'd been alternating so violently between affectionate and distant so much during the Hawthorne case she didn't even try to anticipate him. It more than often not just broke her heart.

Sensing her change of tone, Jack looked up and met her sleepy gaze. After a beat, he smiled.

"I won't be too late," he told her, tossing her the keys from his pocket.

"Warm up the bed for me, it's cold out."

He didn't get in until nearly three hours later. She'd all but collapsed in his bed, wearing a soft, aged undershirt of his and nothing else. She'd slept hard and dreamlessly, and only stirred when she felt the mattress droop as he sat on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed.

"Hey," she greeted sleepily, rolling over to look at the back of his head as he stared into space across the room.

"Hey," he replied, his voice remote. The switch had flipped again.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Jack said defeatedly.

Claire sat up, bringing her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile?" She asked with a smile in her husky voice.

Jack dropped his head. "What are we doing?"

Claire's hand stopped massaging his shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"Is this a mistake?" Jack asked, still not turning to look at her.

"Jack, I just woke up—you're going to have to clue me in," she emphasized her point by using her hand to slightly turn him toward her. He reluctantly met her eyes, and she was struck by how gloomy they looked.

"This case. Diana. Everything. It's just…"

"…I know," she said quietly, running her fingers down his shoulder and arm to grasp his hand.

"It has just made me—made me consider things from another perspective," he continued, looking down again.

"What perspective is that?"

"Should we be doing this?"

"This as in…?"

"Us."

Claire frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't see what Diana Hawthorne and this case has to do with _us_."

"C'mon, Claire." Jack said, standing now, still looking away from her as he said with quiet shame, "I can only imagine what she said to you."

"Yeah, so what?" Claire asked from the bed, sitting back against the pillow. "I'm sure Kate, Sally, they'd all have a lot to say. I'm sure Joel Thayer would have a lot to say about me. So would my ex-boyfriend from law school. I would _hope_ it wouldn't make you doubt how I feel—,"

"It's not that," Jack interrupted, turning around. "I don't have any doubt about my feelings. What I have doubt about is if this is the right thing. For you, mainly."

Claire was fully awake now, and getting angry.

"As much as I appreciate the concern, I'm perfectly capable of making that decision for myself," she informed him tightly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know you are. But how much influence have I had—,"

"Jack. Stop," Claire snapped decisively, putting her hand up for emphasis. "I'm not Diana. I'm not out to—to _appease_ you."

"'Your boss _and_ your lover, that's quite an influence,'" Jack parroted her own words to Diana in court that day back to her. Claire smirked.

"I know, I'm _great_ on cross." Claire stood then, his shirt skimming her thighs as she moved toward him.

Sliding her hands up the front of his shirt to rest on his chest, she met his gaze evenly.

"I'm here because I want to be. No other reasons. No strings."

Jack regarded her thoughtfully.

"And what about a year from now? Or five?" He gently placed his hands on her hips, massaging his fingers in the soft skin there, not as a seduction but more as if to make sure she was real.

The tension in the room melted away, and she raised a hand to his cheek.

"I'll keep you in the loop."

Jack smiled, moving his hands behind her to the small of her back to pull her against him gently.

"I'm in love with you," he said quietly, dropping his forehead to rest against hers.

"I'm in love with you," he repeated, rolling his head slightly back and forth with his eyes closed. "That's why I—your happiness is important to me. I don't want to be the reason you're not—,"

Claire, finally finding her voice, shook her head, never breaking contact with his.

"You won't be," she breathed. "I love you, Jack."

Jack exhaled, the relief palpable.

"Is that enough?"

"It is for me."


	4. IV

**Title/Author: **"Between the Bars: Kincaid" by n.s.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A not-canon-but-not-_not_-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. This is brought to you by me watching loads of Law & Order reruns while my kids take naps.

"Okay, so you can meet with Lars Mangan on Wednesday at 10 am, is that still a good time?" Claire asked, running her finger down a list of appointments.

"That's right," Liz Olivet replied. "I have to testify in a case for Marshall at 12:00 but that should be plenty of time."

"I agree. And if we need more time, I'm sure his attorney will be fine with that. I think that's all, for now," she brought her eyes up to meet the other woman's with a smile. "Thanks, Elizabeth."

"Anytime," Liz replied, standing and picking up her coat. "I'll see you later, Claire."

Claire had looked back down and heard the door of Jack's office open, but ticked her eyes back up when Liz didn't leave.

"I wanted to ask you something," Liz said slowly, closing the door to the office and turning back toward her.

Claire sat back and set her pen down. "Sure, what is it?"

Liz sighed, visibly weighing her choice of her words, as she sat back down.

"I wasn't sure if you—if you had spoken to Mike lately," she ventured, holding Claire's gaze searchingly.

Claire cleared her throat and frowned. "Mike? Detective Logan? No, not since he transferred to Staten Island. Why?"

"He's not taking my calls," Liz said with another sigh, rolling her shoulders. "I can't say I'm surprised, but I was worried about him and—I was hoping I could glean something from you."

Claire shifted in her chair. "Uh, no. Sorry. Our paths don't—_won't_ cross anymore."

The understanding registered deeply within the doctor. Her gaze was neutral, but a knowingness flickered across her eyes.

"I see," she said simply a moment later, pressing her lips together. "I'm sorry to hear that."

The words seemed simple enough on the surface, but Liz said them with gravity. Claire was afraid she might say something else, another question, but the doctor quickly switched tactics.

"I worry about him. Maybe too much. He certainly thinks so," she said with a slight smile and a shrug.

Claire returned the slight smile.

"_Anyone_ else worrying _at all _about him…would probably be too much," she mused, picking up her pen and turning it in her hand.

Liz smiled again, almost conspiratorially.

"You're right on that," she agreed, adding, "I knew you'd understand."

Claire smiled genuinely as the other woman stood up.

"Thanks anyway, Claire." Liz went to the door again, opened it again, and again paused before leaving.

"If I hear from him and he's well—I'll let you know."

Before Claire could object, Liz was gone and the door was shut.

Denial was pointless anyway.


	5. III

**Title/Author: **"Between the Bars: Kincaid" by n.s.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A not-canon-but-not-_not_-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. This is brought to you by me watching loads of Law & Order reruns while my kids take naps.

That's Jack McCoy.

In her bed.

Sleeping.

Not just sleeping but…yes, snoring. Lightly, barely audible over the churn of traffic and a truck backing up outside her apartment.

Claire slid out of bed but never took her eyes off of him. The winter morning sun was putting on a brilliant performance, almost as if to make up for setting so early the night before, throwing his resting features into angelic relief. He looked so different.

Sliding into the tee shirt she had discarded, or, he had discarded the night before—

"_God, you're beautiful."_

—she also snatched a pair of pajama pants and pulled them over her naked legs. Normally she wouldn't rush to do so, and she wasn't sure where the burst of modesty came from, especially after—

_He slid her panties down slowly, skimming his knuckles down her hips and thighs leaving a ripple of goosebumps in their wake, which he soothed with a trail of kisses._

—but she pulled the string tightly before going to make coffee, or something, anything in another room.

She heard him rustling around in her room sometime later, and her heart pounded audibly when she heard the telltale aching of her floorboards as he crossed the threshold out of the bedroom.

He had made an attempt at modesty, too, as it were, for him. He was in his undershirt and his boxers, which was more than she'd seen him a time or two—or tried not to see him—wearing at times in his office when he changed from court room clothes to jeans.

"Good morning," he said neutrally, stretching casually to lean on the door, in a more gravelly timber than she'd ever heard before. She turned the coffee mug around in the table in front of her to keep her hands busy.

"Good morning," she said more breathlessly than she wanted to, cursing herself. He smiled and dropped his gaze to her cup.

"You have any more of that?"

"Um, yeah."

She shuffled into the kitchen and he followed her.

"Is everything okay, Claire?"

As she poured the coffee into the mug, a Harvard law mug with a chip on the lip and the only other mug she owned, she forced a smile.

"Sure."

He crossed the small room into her personal space, where she stood rather stiffly, clutching the mug with a tight grip.

"Good," he said, wrapping his hand around the mug and lifting it to his lips but never breaking eye contact.

She smiled again, and lowered her head like a shy schoolgirl, which brought her eyes to the floor, to his bare feet.

Jack McCoy, barefoot on her cold kitchen floor. In his underwear. Drinking coffee from her favorite mug on a Saturday morning.

She laughed. Suddenly, and hard. It bubbled up spontaneously, and with it evaporated her nervousness.

"What?" He asked, smiling as if he was in on the joke.

"I just…" she shook her head, still smiling widely. "Can't believe Jack McCoy is barefoot in my kitchen."

He laughed too, quick and short, holding her gaze. They shared a moment where they both silently acknowledged the fact that standing in her kitchen wasn't the most intimate thing he'd done in that apartment in recent memory—

_As he kissed a trail from between her legs up to her belly button, she clutched her shaking hands in his hair as the last waves of sensations washed over her._

—"If you think that's funny," he slid a hand along her cheek and then cupped the back of her head. "Wait until you see me try to impress you by making an omelette. Comedic gold."

They ate the omelette in bed, two hours later.


	6. II

**Title/Author: **"Between the Bars: Kincaid" by n.s.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A not-canon-but-not-_not_-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. This is brought to you by me watching loads of Law & Order reruns while my kids take naps.

"Claire?"

Claire looked up groggily from her desk and squinted into the darkness past her desk. The rest of the office had quietly shut down around her but she hadn't noticed—besides hours earlier when McCoy invited her to dinner and she rejected him—and the only light in the office was the sturdy little desk lamp she'd turned on hours before in preparation for the late night.

"Oh, hi, Lennie," she smiled warmly at the detective standing at her cube, and sat back. "I wasn't expecting you. Did something come up with the Forrest case?"

"No, no, I uh," the normally light-hearted detective seemed uncomfortable as he shifted on his feet, and then hesitantly sat down in the chair on the other side of her desk. "I got a message."

Claire frowned and rubbed her eyes. "From me? I'm sorry I'm drawing a blank."

"It wasn't—it wasn't work related." Lennie cleared his throat and met her eyes evenly. "I think the dispatcher might have transferred you to my service instead of…Mike's."

A bucket of ice water washed over Claire. "Oh," was all she managed.

"Oh," Lennie echoed with a nod. "I just want to let you know he uh, he didn't get the message."

"Right. Well, thanks for letting me know, I'll—I'll make sure I get in touch with him," Claire said, recovering her voice from embarrassment and putting on the best professional mask she could muster after a fifteen hour day. It wasn't much. The sympathy in Lennie's eyes told her as much.

"Sure," Lennie replied, again shifting slightly in the chair. "Is everything okay, kid?"

"Yeah. I just—he—I just hadn't heard from him." Claire swallowed, looking down at the pen in her hands with more focus than it required. Everything suddenly felt very heavy and room especially dark and quiet.

"It might have been best that he didn't get the message," she finished, not looking up.

Lennie sighed and closed his eyes, then nodded again. "You might be right. He's a complicated guy."

Claire felt tears burning behind her eyes. The weight of the day pressed against them with something fierce. She wished Lennie, normally a welcome presence, would leave—if only to save her from the further and final embarrassment of seeing any of those tears manifest.

"I know," she said softly.

"And I know you know," Lennie said. "But sometimes it helps to hear from someone else, equally if not more complicated, and a little older."

Claire smiled and swallowed back the tears at his kindness as she raised his eyes to meet his.

"Thanks, Lennie."

"Any time." He stood, but didn't leave. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry."

Claire shook her head dismissively, the damned tears coming even closer.

"It's nothing."

"Right. Now you sound like him," he said but then seemed to regret. As he pulled his coat back on his shoulders, he sighed again.

"I'm still sorry, Claire. He was happy."

After the elevator doors closed behind Lennie, and Claire was alone again—_again—_she picked up the phone.

The words of her message that were left on Lennie's machine—

"_Hi, it's me. I'm not sure…I'm not sure what happened, if I did something to upset you, or…what. But I'd like to talk. I…miss you. Give me a call, or stop by later. I won't be home until late, but the key is in the same place. Okay. Bye."_

—died on her lips when she heard the tone to leave a message for Detective Michael Logan of the 27th precinct.

Instead:

"_It's me. I hope you're okay. Call me if you need me."_


	7. I

**Title/Author: **"Between the Bars: Kincaid" by n.s.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A not-canon-but-not-_not_-canon look at the relationships between Mike Logan, Jack McCoy, and Claire Kincaid through seasons 4-6; implied Liz Olivet/Mike. T for some language and suggestive scenes. Final installment of the series, with "Between the Bars: Logan" and "Between the Bars: McCoy."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters. This is brought to you by me watching loads of Law & Order reruns while my kids take naps.

"You want to drink some real coffee before you go break the news to McCoy about Haas?" Mike murmured into her ear as they got off the elevator in the medical examiner's office.

"I definitely need something," Claire replied, yawning widely and rubbing her eyes. "I haven't slept since yesterday."

"Sleeping, is that what that was?" He asked evenly, but when she met his eyes they were twinkling. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

"You're buying, right?"

They headed down the street toward Eddie's, and as they stood waiting for the red light to change Lennie shot them a wave before heading in the opposite direction. When the other man's back was turned, Mike threw an arm around her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. It didn't much matter, after everything, but Mike was slow to show any indication of their relationship to anyone, even Lennie, who probably knew more about it than most.

Probably even more than Claire herself.

They slid up to the bar at Eddie's, already popping with the early morning breakfast crowd. Mike ordered pancakes with his coffee, and Claire got an omelette. As they waited they discussed the case against Haas, or lack of case at this point.

"Do you think McCoy will really let it go? He's got his sights trained on Haas already, knowing him he won't take no for an answer," he asked as he took a swig of coffee.

Claire shrugged, yawned again, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I can't get a read on him. If office gossip is to be believed, he'll still drag her in on the grounds that she conspired with the liver cancer."

Mike chuffed a laugh. "He is a determined son of a bitch."

When her eggs appeared before them, Mike snagged a potato from her plate. She playfully swiped at his hand but as he popped it in his mouth he laughed and winked.

Just like that, seamlessly, he was Mike. Not Logan, certainly not Detective Logan, _Mike. _It was rare, even when they were alone and far from the context of work, that she got to see that side. She marveled at him then. He was an excellent cop, especially for being relatively young, but it was the other side that she could never get enough of, the little insignificant moments she'd think of later, sometimes when he was talking about a case so seriously. She'd see him joking with her, stealing her food, teasing her. Playful, light, almost goofy. He guarded those moments, even after almost a year, like he was afraid if he allowed too many of them they might run out. In those moments, she had a strange, secret wish to have known him when he was younger, just so she would have more of those moments to savor, before he began to ration them out.

But she supposed that was a long time ago.

When his pancakes arrived, he doused them in syrup. After the first bite a tear drop of syrup blossomed on the corner of his mouth and she leaned over and kissed it off. She laughed and winked playfully as he had, but his eyes became darker. His licked his lip where she had kissed, and leaned over to speak into her ear.

"Keep that up counselor, you're going to have to get some "sleep" before you go see your boss."

She smiled and moved her head the tiny space she needed to move it to kiss him. Full, on the mouth, with her tongue tasting the syrup again.

"I am pretty tired," she said sweetly, turning back to her breakfast triumphantly.


End file.
